Straight and Narrow
by alrightginger
Summary: And she thinks of her parents and knows what happens when emerald green meets hazel. And she wonders if she's ready for it. Fem! Harry x George
1. Prologue

**A/N: I haven't decided if I'm going to make this a oneshot or continue it. It seems rather cruel to leave it on it's own, which you'll find out why at the end. I'll let y'all decide if I should continue this or not, so let me know in a review if you're interested in more. If I do add to this, it won't always be so depressing. Because things have to get better, yeah?**

 **I've been getting a lot of questions about fics with this pairing and let me tell you...I have the HARDEST time finding anything. I'm pretty picky though. I don't like reading the series basically being hashed out but with a female protagonist and just a few spare bits of Harry/George throughout.**

 **And I like my Harry to not be totally OC because she's a girl.**

 **If anyone happens to know of any good fem Harry/George, let me know and maybe I can put a fic rec together on my tumblr.**

 **Straight and Narrow**

Later - _much_ later- she would think back to the funeral and think of how her new beginnings, every turning point for her, began at someone else's ending.

But in that moment, she's attending Fred's funeral and he's being buried under a big oak tree at the Burrow and Harry thinks it's the right sort of place for him. He's forever young and would seem out of place buried in a family graveyard next to people who had gone at a proper time. Here, at the Burrow, he's with his childhood and always, always within reach.

The day is too pretty for a funeral. It's bright and sunny and Harry feels awkward in her black muggle dress among the sea of wizarding robes, but she is used to being out of place so it hardly bothers her now.

She's been misplaced all her life, and now she's just waiting for whatever comes next to pick her up.

Kingsley's voice is deep and soothing and Harry lets it guide her as she carries the little pile of dirt that she's clutching and drops it into the ground where Fred is. And she think it's strange- that he's inside that small, narrow box- and how someone so full of life can be contained between the walls of the wood.

And she's wiping the dirt off of her pretty dress when she feels a pair of eyes on her and she lifts her red-rimmed emerald eyes to meet his hazel in question. There's so much red and he's right there in the middle of it all and his hazel eyes stand out.

And she thinks of her parents and knows what happens when emerald green meets hazel.

And she wonders if she's ready for it.

* * *

The walls of Number 93 Diagon Alley were bare. They - he and _Fred -_ had taken everything they could when they had to leave. They had been upset at the time but they thought that they _both_ would return after the war and start over.

But now it's just him and George is staring around the shop listlessly.

He shouldn't have come here, he thinks. It's too much too soon but he can't stay at the Burrow where Fred is both there and not there all at once. Where his family looks at him and then quickly look away because he looks like Fred who is in the ground and Fred looks like him who is above it.

And he finds himself wishing for the first time in his life that he wasn't a twin and then maybe he wouldn't have had to shatter the mirror upstairs in his flat. He's thinking of burning down the shop when he hears a tap on the glass outside and he turns to see Harry.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she mouths to ask if she can come in and George does let her in and she brings with her the smell on honey and cinnamon and it floods his senses.

"Are you going to reopen?"

She's not looking at him as she asks. Instead her eyes are on the empty shelves, but he knows they're really miles away. Stuck in some long ago memory.

He knows that glazed over look, because he wears it himself.

"I don't know."

It's an honest answer.

He doesn't know who he is without Fred and he's not sure how to function as one person when he used to be two. He's not sure how he can come here everyday and live out their dream when standing in it now makes him feel like he can't breathe.

"I think you should," she says. "The world still needs a laugh."

And she looks at him then and he watches her eyes come back to this moment with him and he wonders not for the first time how her eyes could be so very green.

She's looking at him as though she sees him for the first time. Her head is tilted as though she's confused by what she sees and she crosses the distance between them slowly; each step echoing softly against the hardwood floors and even George thinks that is deafening. She pauses when she reaches him and she's having to look up at him - always, always six inches below him - and her lips are parted slightly.

"Maybe," he swallows.

* * *

A week goes by since Harry last saw George that day in his shop and she think she may be in love with him. Which is awfully inconvenient because she's a complete and utter mess from the war.

And so is George.

She feels like she's missing part of herself after the war. As though the part of Voldemort that was inside of her took some of her with it. Her magic doesn't feel like her own anymore and she's finding herself having more accidental outbursts than she did as a child.

And she doesn't think she should be in love with part of her so messed up.

But she is and she doesn't know what to do with it all.

* * *

George knows he's in love and positively cannot deal with it right now.

His heart, that feels dead every other time, shouldn't beat so wildly whenever he sees her. But he's been in love since he was sixteen and there's not much he can do about it now, he's learned. Fred used to tease him back when they were at Hogwarts and he would explain his deep affection to him and Lee.

"I'd take a killing curse for her," he said one afternoon while he was laying in his old school bed. "I'd jump in front of one for her."

"Why are you always dying in your fantasies of her?" teased Fred. "There are loads of _better_ things you could be imagining."

"I don't _die_ of course," he says. "She'd save me. She's good at that."

"You've lost it," Lee had told him.

He'd argue now that they were right.

He's in love and doesn't know how to handle it when he's half a man.

* * *

"Has anyone seen Harry?"

It's Ron who asks while everyone is seated around the dinner table at the Burrow. Everyone except for Harry.

 _And Fred,_ George thinks lamely.

He's not entirely sure why he's come back, but his mother begged him to at least come for dinner once a week so he does. It's hard to be at his flat but it's harder still to be at the Burrow. There are memories in both places. _Happy_ memories in both places.

And they suffocate him.

"Harry's at Grimmauld Place," says Charlie and George wonders how he knows.

"But why is she there?" asks Ginny. "Of all places?"

"Harry's having a difficult time right now," his father says. "We've all suffered losses. Harry included."

"But we're all Harry has!" shouts Ron. "She's all alone in that house sulking when she could be here with us."

"Maybe what Harry needs right now _is_ to be alone," says Hermione.

George clears his throat, his voice coming out hoarse from lack of use. "She came to see me at the shop about a week and a half ago."

"Harry came to see _you-"_

"You went to the shop-"

Ron and their mother speak at the same time as every pair of eyes turn to look at him before quickly looking away again. He wonders if they realize that they're doing it.

Looking away that is.

But he can't bring himself to look at any of them either when he speaks.

"She came to see me," he says louder this time. "She told me I ought to open the shop again."

"And are you?" asks his mother. "Going to open the shop again?"

"I don't know."

* * *

A few more days pass and George is back at his flat nursing a bottle of Firewhiskey when there's a knock on his door. No one aside from his mother comes to visit him and so he's surprised when he opens the door and Harry's on the other side.

"Harry," he greets and he wonders if she can smell the Firewhiskey on him.

"I brought food," she says lifting a small bag and shrugging. "I was wondering if you'd want to share a meal together?"

He doesn't necessarily want to eat but he doesn't want to be rude so he lets her in and wonders how cinnamon and honey can smell stronger than Firewhiskey. She sits down on his couch and looks at him expectantly and so he joins her.

"What is this?" he says looking at the food she's brought.

"Muggle food," she says. "From a place called McDonalds."

"Muggle food?"

"It's been awhile since I had it."

She offers him something long and yellow and it's hot to the touch and almost greasy, but it's the best thing he's tasted in a long time when he puts it in his mouth.

"What are these?" he asks taking another. "They're good."

"French fries," she says. "I got a couple burgers too."

They sit there on his couch eating in silence and though George has been used to long bouts of silence with Harry it's almost deafening. He wants her to move, to be alive in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" he asks unable to help himself.

She starts. "I didn't want to be alone."

"So you came to _me?"_

"Yeah," she shrugs. "Please don't ask me why."

And so he doesn't and she in turn closes her eyes slightly and leans back and looks positively dead to the world. He shutters thinking of Harry's lifeless body being carried by Hagrid.

But she's not dead. She _didn't_ die. Or at least- he doesn't think so.

She's here now anyway.

And suddenly he's angry with her for being so beautiful and full of life and making him feel something when he himself ought to be dead.

"Get out," he spits.

"What?"

Her eyes blink open and she's looking at him as though he's burned her.

" _Get out!"_

He's standing and grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up towards him. And he sees that spark of life he was looking for earlier in her eyes and it's fierce.

"Let go of me!" she shouts. "What's your problem?"

"My problem? _My problem_ is you! It's you coming here _expecting_ something from me when I can't give it-"

"I don't expect _anything_ from you!"

"Bullshit!"

"I don't! I'm here because I _want_ to be!"

"Well, I don't want you here! I look at you and how _alive_ you are and all I can think of is Fred!"

"And you think I don't?" She's yelling now, her fists are clenched, and she's rounding on him. "You think I don't see him- see _everyone -_ when I close my eyes? When I look in the mirror in the morning and see these bloody scars?"

"You don't know what it's like-"

"I don't know what it's _like?_ You're not the only one who has lost someone, George! In case you're forgetting I don't exactly have a _family!"_

"It's- that's different!"

"Yes, entirely different! Stupid little orphan girl. Doesn't know what it's like to lose anyone. Doesn't know what it's like to grow up in a world without someone."

And she's a force and he thinks she may strike him down in that moment and he almost wishes that she would. She could easily do it now for there's no space between them. He's apparently backed her into a wall at some point and he knows she does best when she's backed into corners. She doesn't back down when she's got her back against a wall.

She always, always comes out on the other side taking down whatever is in her path.

And maybe that's the reason he does it - the fact that he _knows_ she won't back down - or maybe it's the fact that she's slapped him across the face just this instant; but either way he's grabbing her wrists and shoving her into the wall and then his lips crash onto hers.

" _Fuck,"_ he whispers against her lips which are fighting his for dominance. " _Fuck, fuck, fuck."_

And then she relaxes in his arms and her wrists - which were hoisted above her head by his own hands- go limp and she's whimpering and crying.

"Fuck," he says again but this time he pulls away to take her in, he's moving his arms from her wrists to cup her face, and her hands drop between them. "Fuck, Harry. I'm sorry. I - I didn't _mean_ any of that."

"You're right though," she says through sobs. "I don't know what it's like, and I feel so stupid for feeling like part of me is missing that I never really knew."

"You're not," he says. "You're _not_ stupid."

"Then what am I then?"

"You're six inches below me."

"What?"

"I said," he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. "You're six inches shorter than me."

"Oh," she says. "Well, I guess that explains why I have to crane my head up to kiss you."

"It might be easier if you stand on your toes."

"Or if you bent down more."

"We could compromise."

"Meet in the middle?"

And they do - meet in the middle that is - and it's not intense like it was before. It's slow and soft and _right_ in the middle of everything that's wrong. And he knows exactly where it's heading and doesn't think he wants to stop it this time. He _wants_ to feel and more than anything he wants to feel her so when her hands start undoing the buttons of his shirt his own start dragging the zipper of her dress down.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he whispers against her lips which taste like salt from her tears. And her dress hits the ground and he sees what the war has done to her. She's thinner than before and she looks beaten down and she has wounds that are on their way to scaring. But she's beautiful and she's _his_ in that moment.

And six inches isn't really that big of a deal.

Especially when she's underneath him and he has inches to spare.

* * *

George wakes up with a hangover the next day and in bed - _alone._ Harry is gone and he's left with memories of last night that no amount of Firewhiskey could drown out. She was there when he fell asleep. They drifted off clinging to one another -her head under his chin, his fingers grazing her bare back- and he remembers her telling him that he smelled like vanilla before passing out.

He wonders briefly about going to find her, but then decides he needs to get himself together before he does.

She doesn't deserve half a man.

And so he sends an owl to Lee Jordan and walks down to the shop.

* * *

It ends for Harry at the beginning.

Or maybe _its_ beginning is also hers as well.

She isn't sure just yet.

What she does know is she hasn't seen George in over a month but now she has to.

What she does know is that she's been more sick than she's ever been in her life and when she doesn't get better she knows _why._

But it takes ten little muggle test sticks to allow her mind to catch up with her gut feeling.

And when it does, what she does know is, "I'm _pregnant."_

And maybe it's not the end, maybe it's a start.

She isn't sure, but she's going to find out.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: So, obviously I decided to continue this. It got a lot of response and it felt cruel to leave it as it was. The first part has been changed to the prologue and this is officially chapter one. I did that so I could change the writing style up a bit.**

 **Please don't forget to review!**

 **And enjoy!**

 **Chapter One**

She had a plan before all this.

Before the war, before part of Voldemort left her, before that _night_ with George.

But after everything, when she took a step back and looked at her life, she didn't recognize it. It was as if all those plans had been made by a person that wasn't her. Like, whoever that person was, had planned on her coming out of all of this without some sort of gigantic void where her heart used to be.

So she took a step back.

From those plans, from herself, from her saving people complex.

From _everything._

She moved into her dead godfather's house, drank too much Firewhiskey, slept too little, ate too sparsely. Kreacher didn't question her when she came back. Didn't question her when she would go off wandering in the middle of the night and return at odd hours. Only cried a bit when she took a sledgehammer to his old mistress' portrait in a drunken rage.

And really, that's what she needed right now. To wander and wallow in the emptiness she felt and to forge her way out of it. To come out of the other side without anyone questioning her. Without anyone holding her hand.

She needed to _feel_ all of this.

Her wandering had led her to George that night and perhaps that's where she had been meant to go, but she couldn't help but feel like she had gotten the timing all wrong.

* * *

Six weeks.

Said aloud, it seemed like such a long time, but in reality it wasn't really that long at all.

"There are services for young mothers who need them," said the doctor, offering her some pamphlets which she took.

"Thank you," she said. "I'll look into them."

Lies. She wouldn't look into them. She didn't _need_ them. What she needed was to keep the _Daily Prophet_ off her back for a bit longer and they would eat an accidental pregnancy from the _chosen one_ up. Which is why she found herself at a muggle doctor, wanting to confirm that she was pregnant - really, _really_ pregnant. - and she was.

And she was terrified.

"You're six weeks along now," continued the doctor and Harry was only half listening. "The heartbeat is a strong 160 beats per minute and you're looking at delivering in early April. Everything is looking well so far."

"April."

"Possibly an April Fool's Day baby."

The timing was horribly, horribly wrong.

* * *

Harry had a plan. Not a _life plan_ \- though she really, honestly needed to figure that out now - but a plan for how to tell George about the - about _their -_ baby. She was going to march up to his flat and just come out with it. She had rehearsed it in the mirror that morning, she had packed the little ultrasound pictures the muggle doctor had given her that showed their little bean of a baby to show him, and she was going to tell him he could be as involved as he wanted.

That had been the plan.

Except when she showed up to his shop and decided to peer in through the window first she had seen products on the shelves and someone shuffling around in the back arranging things and a sign that said _In Memory of Fred Weasley._

And…

And…

And _shite._

He was getting his life together and she was about to go screw it all up. She was about to sucker-punch him in the throat with what she was about to tell him.

"Okay, okay," she said to herself while pacing back and forth in front of the shop. "I can still do this. I can go in there, look him right in the face and say 'George Weasley, I know you're getting your shite together, but you're going to be a fath-"

"Harry?"

" _Shite!"_

The voice jolts her. Sends a wave of shock through her. She turns so fast that she collides with him knocking over the cups of what _must_ be coffee in his hands because it burns and stains the front of her white shirt brown causing her to sputter like a fool.

"Merlin, Harry," said George. He's somehow _not_ covered in coffee and Harry - who hasn't seen him since _that_ night and is probably dealing with a few extra hormones - feels a sudden warmth overtake her that she's certain isn't from the liquid she's covered in.

" _George!"_

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said steadying her by placing his hands on her shoulders. "I didn't know you would freak out so badly. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I just- I wanted to come see you." _Smooth, Potter._ "It's been a while."

"I know," said George, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been meaning to come see you as well. I've just been kind of busy."

"With the shop? I mean - it looks as though you're about to reopen."

"Yeah," he nods. "Do you want to come see it?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

* * *

George had a plan.

The first thing he had to do was work on reopening the shop. It's what _Fred_ would have wanted no matter how much it makes him feel as though he can't breathe. But he's getting better about the breathing thing. Sometimes he has to step outside or disappear and then come back when it gets a bit too hard. Sometimes he has to shatter a product or two that makes him think too much of Fred. Sometimes he gets hit with an idea for a product in the middle of the night and works like mad on it - obsessing over it - until the sun comes up and when he turns to show Fred, no one is there and _that's_ the hardest part. The moments of sheer bliss in doing what he loves where he forgets for those few seconds because Fred loved it too but Fred's not there anymore.

But that's why Lee is here helping him.

Lee had immediately agreed to assist him with the shop after George had owled him and had been at the shop everyday since.

It was with Lee that he figured out the second part of his plan. It was actually Lee himself who suggested it.

"I think we ought to move the Pygmy Puff's closer to the front window so people can see them right away-"

"I slept with Harry."

Lee nearly dropped the purple Pygmy Puff that he was holding. It was the second day they were working on the shop and George truly hadn't meant to blurt it aloud but it was eating him alive. For when he wasn't thinking of Fred he was thinking of Harry. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her underneath him writhing. He felt her nails dragging down his back, her teeth at his neck, he felt her hips against his like a phantom limb. If he was left alone in the silence for too long he could hear her whining in his ear. And, _Merlin,_ he hadn't pegged her as a whiner, but she was so vocal that night that he couldn't get it out of his fucking head.

Before he had only lived off of his imagination, but that night - _that night -_ had been far better than anything he could have ever dreamed up in his head. And now he wanted to do it again.

And again, and again, and again.

But the timing was all wrong.

" _What?"_ Lee's voice pulled him away from Harry. "When? How? _What?"_

"I didn't mean to, or maybe I did. I'm not even sure anymore," said George, groaning and leaning back against the wall. "She came over the other night and we sort of got into a fight and then we, well-"

" _Made up?"_ offered Lee.

"That's one way of putting it."

"And how was it? The making up?"

"Incredible."

"Then why do you look so miserable?"

"Because I _just_ lost Fred. I shouldn't be doing _anything_ other than grieving right now. But I can't stop thinking about it. About _her._ And when I'm not thinking about it or her I'm thinking about _him._ And it's just- just-"

"You feel guilty."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Harry's grieving too," said Lee slowly. "And you can't feel guilty for life going on-"

"Without him," finished George after Lee trailed off. His voice cracked and he felt dangerously close to tears. "That's what sucks so much. Life isn't stopping. It's just going on and now I'm being forced to make memories that don't have him in them and I _want_ him here. With me. I don't want to go the rest of my life feeling like half a man."

"I know it sucks," said Lee. "It sucks so bad. But your life _is_ going to go on, but that doesn't mean that Fred doesn't get to be apart of it. You don't just _stop_ having a twin because he's not physically here."

George was full on sobbing by that point. Shielding his eyes with his hand and silently shaking as he did so. He didn't want to cry every time he talked about Fred. He ought to have been cried out by now.

George felt a hand on his shoulder but didn't look up. "Fred is still _here._ He's always going to be here. In this shop, with you. He's just here in a different sort of way. He wouldn't want you to feel guilty for your life going on. He would _want_ that."

"I _know_ he would. I would want the same thing for him. It's just - it's so fucking hard."

"It's going to be hard for a while. There's no way around it." Lee paused for a moment, seeming to ponder over his next words. "What are you going to do about Harry?"

"I don't know," groaned George. "I have no clue what to do about her."

"Do you want it to be a one time thing?"

"No," answered George so quickly he surprised himself. "I don't. I want to do it again. Not just the sex - I mean, _yeah,_ I wouldn't mind doing that again - but I want to do it over. Ask her out properly. But the timing isn't right yet. It's all off. I need to focus on the shop for Fred and myself for a little while."

"So then, let's do that. Let's get the shop back up, let's work on you, and then when you're ready we'll go for step two."

"Step two?"

"Operation get Harriet Potter to fall in love with George Weasley."

George snorted. "We tried that seventh year. Didn't go so well."

"You left the school before it could really get momentum. I don't think we'll have that problem this time around."

George felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards slightly. He could almost feel Fred next to him, shoving his shoulder and telling him to ' _go for it, Georgie.'_

"Alright. Let's focus on part one first."

* * *

"I'm pregnant."

Harry truly hadn't meant to practically scream it at him. That's not how she had rehearsed it in the mirror at home and she thought she had it pretty well figured it out when she left (though the mirror told her she would have better luck if she fixed her hair). But then he started showing her how they had set the shop up and then noticed that she was still drenched in his coffee and had offered to dry her off. He had put a stupid hand on her stupid hip while he did so and there was a moment - after she was dry and her shirt was no longer stained - that they had locked eyes and he started to lean in slightly and her lips had started to part.

But instead of parting to give him better access to kiss her, they had parted to shout that she was carrying his child.

His eyes were wide and he looked as though he had stop breathing. " _What?"_

"I'm sorry," she said. And _god_ when did she start crying? "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

" _Pregnant?"_

"I didn't even know - didn't even _think_ about birth control," she said, tangling her hands into her hair and pulling. "Did you know that there's a potion you can take? Because I didn't - _obviously._ And I went to a muggle doctor a few days ago because I wanted to be sure, but I didn't want the _Prophet_ to catch on-"

She was pacing now as she had done outside of his shop earlier and he was too shocked to speak. He had slumped back against the wall for support and looked as though Harry truly _had_ sucker-punched him.

" - and I'm six weeks along. And _god_ I'm messing all this up, aren't I? I had this whole plan to come here and calmly tell you everything. I should have asked you to come over for dinner or something. That would have probably gone a whole lot better."

"Harry-"

"I just wanted you to _know_ \- because you deserve to know - but I also want you to know that you can be as involved as you want. I'm keeping the baby even though I'm so fucking scared. But you have a choice-"

" _Harriet!"_

George seemed to have finally caught up with her and was in front of her now. He cupped her face with his hands, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

"What?"

"You're pregnant."

"Yes," she said sniffling. "I'm six weeks along."

"With my baby?"

"Yes, of course with your baby."

"And you want to keep it."

"Yes," she said strongly. "It just feels wrong to - to get _rid_ of it. No matter how scary this is, this baby is my only family. Aside from the Dursleys."

"It's not your only family," he said firmly. "You've always been a Weasley. And now we're family. Officially."

"You mean?"

"I'm not going to leave you alone after getting you pregnant."

"I just don't want you to feel like you _have_ to. I know how hard things are for you right now, and I don't want to screw up any progress you've made."

"Harry, I _want_ to be involved. I want this baby. Sure, it's definitely not anything I've planned for and the timing is-"

"The timing is _shite,"_ said Harry with a laugh. "Such shite."

"It really is," agreed George laughing as well. "But we'll figure this out. _Together."_

"Yeah?"

"Of course. Listen, this is all new and fresh. For both of us. Why don't you come over to my flat for dinner tonight and we can talk after it's sunken in a bit for the both of us."

Harry nodded. "Sure."

His hands moved down to her stomach, hitching themselves on her hips and his thumbs rubbing over her stomach. "You're pregnant."

"I am."

"And that's _my baby."_

Her heart leapt. "It is."

"And - I'm its _dad."_

And Harry, who had been prepared to do this all on her own and terrified of doing so, let out a shaky breath that she wasn't even aware of holding. Relief flooded through her, covering her like water and she fell into an easy state of solace. She leaned forward, into him, and laid her head on his chest and let her own tears - this time caused by _happiness -_ wash over her; cleansing her like a baptism.

"And I'm its mum."


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: So, I know things seem like they're going a bit too well with this chapter. But there will be conflict, so don't worry about that. You know, if you want them to have conflict.**

 **I'm enjoying the phase they're in right now.**

 **My tumblr is alrightginger. You can follow me and ask questions about my writings if you'd like. I try to answer them all. I also like getting the occasional Harriet headcannon. Those are fun!**

 **Please don't forget to review!**

 **Chapter Two**

Considering the circumstances, George Weasley should not have been as calm as he was, but the only thing he was the least bit concerned about was what to feed Harriet for dinner. She hadn't mentioned being off of any sort of food, but he knew pregnancy sometimes caused food aversions. Of course she might not be eating anything, he thought, after glancing into his cabinets. They were pitifully bare, and he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he had been to the store.

"Nice one, Weasley," he said to himself. "Got the bird of your dreams pregnant, and you can't even feed her."

He was shaping up to be a right arse of a partner in this whole messy situation, he thought. If you get a girl pregnant, you should at least be able to feed her. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he realized that he was running out of already limited options. Harry would be here within the next ten minutes as they had agreed on dinner at seven when she left the shop earlier.

His whole plan of courting the girl slowly had gone to shite, and now he wasn't exactly sure what to do. They had raced into this thing head first, eyes closed, and had suffered the consequences. Except George knew what it was to suffer - he had been suffering for months now - and when Harry told him she was carrying his child, it didn't _feel_ like suffering.

Sure, it was scary as hell to think of the fact that they were going to be _parents,_ but it didn't feel as though his life was over.

Harry had been prepared to go it alone. She had told him so back at the shop during her excessive speech. She had been terrified, he could tell, and when he told her that _of course_ he would want to be involved, he had wanted to savor the look on her face. He could visually see the wave of relief flow over her and she had leaned into him for support, and he wanted to keep her that way. Keep her safe, secure, tucked underneath him just so.

They were supposed to be discussing a plan whenever she arrived, but he didn't have one. Partly because he was still in a state of shock and partly because he didn't think she would agree to marry him. At least not right now.

Of course, marriage was probably a drastic step.

But having a baby was also fairly drastic.

A knock on the door sent away all thoughts of matrimony from his head and George cursed. Harry was here and the only thing he had managed to do since he left the shop was change out of his work clothes and into a pair of muggle jeans and a t-shirt.

"Hey," he said, opening the door. He wondered if pregnancy glow was a real thing, and if it was, would it already be in effect so early. She looked beautiful and the sudden real wave that she was carrying _his_ child washed over him. "Come in."

She smiled shyly at him and George noticed her eyes dart over towards the wall that he had shoved her against the last time she was here, and his mouth went dry.

"So," she said tucking some hair behind her ear. "Dinner?"

"That was the plan," he said shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets. Partly because he didn't know what to do with them, and partly because he had the sudden urge to touch her. "Unfortunately I didn't realize how bare my cabinets were."

Harry giggled and George noticed it was something she didn't do often enough.

"I suppose we could pick something up _,"_ she said bouncing on the balls of her feet as she spoke. "You know, if you - if you want."

"What would you like? Name it, and I'll get it."

Harry grinned, wrinkling her nose as she did so.

"I've had an awful craving for pizza lately."

* * *

George had never had pizza before and Harry had to explain to him five times what to order before he left. Once he was gone she took a breath to steady herself. She was left alone in his flat. The flat were they had sex not too long ago. She had nearly _died_ when she saw him in his muggle jeans. Her hormones were out of control and she had wondered for a brief second if she was still able to be shoved into walls and snogged senseless while pregnant.

Perhaps being gently pushed against a wall would be okay. Though she couldn't imagine asking a healer such a question.

Harry sighed and slumped against said wall, allowing her head to bang against it.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

Sure, he probably _did_ like her. He had been the one to kiss her after all and then, _well,_ they had shagged. He was the type of bloke to pay his partner compliments during shagging and Harry blushed thinking about it.

He had said things like he loved the way she moved her hips, he loved her arse, and he liked the way she tasted.

He had dragged his tongue nearly _everywhere_ and Harry shivered at the thought.

She had only been with one other guy before that. An awkward night with Dean Thomas who was nice, but neither one of them had that much experience at the time. It had been painful and she had slipped out of the boys dorm a bit ashamed. It wasn't like with George who seemed to know his way around _her_ as though he had spent lengths of time studying her and knew exactly what to do with her and _to_ her.

She couldn't go five minutes without thinking of that night.

It was _all_ she thought about lately. Especially when she was laying alone in her bed and she would remember the pounding of George's own bed against the wall.

She glanced at his bedroom. The door had been left open, and he likely wouldn't be back for twenty more minutes or so. Would it be so weird to go into his bedroom without him?

Probably, but she found herself doing it anyway.

The bed was neatly made - a contrast to _that night_ where the sheets had been tangled and thrown about wildly - and the rest of the room seemed bare as though he didn't really live there. She had only been into the twins room once at the Burrow when she was younger, but she remembered it being a right mess and posters all over the wall.

Glancing around, a glittering on the floor in the bathroom caught her eye, and Harry walked in to see glass smashed and shattered about from the mirror on the bathroom wall.

 _This_ was why she had to be careful, she thought. Because he was still recovering from being broken and may never be the same. Every mirror to him must be the Mirror of Erised.

She took one last look at the glass on the floor before walking back to his bed, throwing herself down on it, and staring up at the ceiling.

She still felt incredibly guilty. She had liked George for a long time. Ever since her fifth year when they had gotten into a fight with some Slytherins together on the Quidditch pitch. She had broken her knuckles on Malfoy's face, and they were blossoming an ugly black and blue mixture as they bruised.

" _He insulted my parents," snarled George. "And Harry's mother."_

And she felt it then, in the middle of McGonagall tearing into them, the first burst of something she didn't understand fully rippling through her. Starting in her chest and making her feel as though she were expanding. As though it was pushing her breath down in her throat.

And then later, when they had left McGonagall's office after being _banned_ from Quidditch, he had stopped her in the hall before they made it back to the common room. Pulling her by the elbow and turning her to look at him fully.

" _Nice arm back there, Potter," he said. He only called her Potter when he was truly impressed with her. In admiration. He lifted her right hand in his gingerly, rubbing his thumb carefully over her knuckles. "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"_

" _I have a bully of a cousin," she said, surprised that anything had come out for she was certain she had stopped breathing. He was_ touching _her. "Self defense and all that."_

" _Hmm," he hummed, deep and low in his throat. "How is it that you can always tell us apart? Me and Fred that is."_

" _Oh," blushed Harry. "I don't know, really. I've always just been able to."_

" _Not a lot of people can."_

" _You're a bit_ softer _than Fred. Not as rough around the edges," said Harry. "And you're about half an inch taller."_

 _And you always seem to notice me more than he does, she thought to herself. You know when I enter a room and I know when you leave one. We're just aware of each other. Push and pull. But somehow always the same direction._

" _I'm not soft for everyone," he said looking her in the eye. "Just for you."_

" _I like it when you're soft with me," she said without thinking._

 _He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, never breaking eye contact as he did so, and his lips lingered ever so slightly._

 _And that's when Harry felt it. Or rather, that's when she_ knew _what she felt._

 _Oh my god, she thought, oh my fucking god. I_ like _you, George Weasley._

"Harry?"

George had returned at some point and was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, clutching a pizza box, and staring at Harry quizzically.

"Oh," she breathed, sitting up, and was surprised to find that her cheeks were wet with tears. " _Oh."_

"Are you okay?" he asked, alarmed. "Did something happen? Is something wrong-"

"No," she said quickly. "Nothing's the matter I just - I…"

She trailed off, biting her lip and looking at him. Trying to separate reason from feeling and finding that they seemed the same. George's eyes darted over her as she sorted out her feelings, and then suddenly his eyes went dark, looking as though he had made a decision for them both. He threw the pizza box roughly onto the dresser next to him and crossed the room in three strides, crawling over top of her and forcing her back down onto his mattress.

Their lips met and he wrapped an arm around her back to lift her further up the bed as her hands worked on tugging his shirt off.

"We might regret this," she said as his lips traveled down her neck. "Later - _oh god-_ we might regret it."

"I don't give a shite right now," he said gruffly. "This is all I can fucking think about."

"Me too," she said and his lips were back on hers again.

* * *

George kissed Harry lazily. Their clothes were long discarded, thrown across the floor, and she was panting heavily.

"Do you regret it yet?" he asked, kissing her again lightly.

"No," she said shaking her head. "Merlin, no. We're quite good at that."

He chuckled. "We are, indeed. It's insane how good we are at that."

He let his lips explore down her neck, stopping to bite at the place just below her ear. If he thought she would be up for another round, he would suggest it. The gasp she admitted just now and the way she squirmed underneath him was enough to get him going again, but she still hadn't caught her breath from just moments ago.

"We were _supposed_ to be talking," she said, laughing. "Instead, we just ended up shagging again which is how we landed in this mess in the first place."

"Hmm," he hummed against her throat. "We can still talk. We can probably focus a bit better now, anyway."

"I don't even know what to say or where to start," she admitted. "We shagged, I'm pregnant, and now I don't know what to do."

He rolled off of her, propping himself up on an elbow to focus on what she was saying.

"Were you planning on going back to school, or joining the Auror academy like Ron?"

"No," she said and her nose scrunched up. "I was actually planning on taking a year off. I don't know if I can ever go back to Hogwarts. At least, not right now. And I don't think I want to be an Auror anymore."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm just - I'm tired of it. I just don't want to do it anymore."

"I can understand that," he sighed. "Probably better than anyone."

"Did you know," started Harry, rolling into him so her head was under his chin and his arms found their way around her, "that when it comes to childbirth, the wizarding world isn't as up to date as the muggle? I didn't realize that until I had to actually look into it. I found out that there are healers that specialize in childbirth, but when it comes to the actual giving _birth_ part most witches have to do it in their _homes?_ Do you know how badly that freaks me out."

"I didn't even think of that," he said stroking her back. "I mean, I always assumed everyone had their children in their homes. Mum did."

"Not in the muggle world. You can give birth in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses. I mean, what if something goes wrong?"

"I've never heard of childbirth going wrong. I assumed that's what the healer was there for."

"Well it can," she said rising up to look him in the eye. "It can go horribly, horribly wrong. And the thought of giving birth at Grimmauld Place is terrifying. Healer or no healer. And then beyond that - where am I supposed to set up a nursery in that place?"

"I don't like the thought of you giving birth at Grimmauld Place," he said seriously. "I don't like the thought of our baby living there either. I don't like the thought of _you_ living there. It's depressing."

"I inherited some estates when I came of age," she sighed. "I thought about looking into one of those, but I haven't been able to bring myself to go look at them yet."

George paused. He didn't like the thought of Harry giving birth or living apart from him. He liked her here, like this. He liked how they fit together. It was just a bonus that she was in the nude currently.

"What if we moved in together?"

The question took Harry by surprise. He could tell by the way she went tense in his arms and her eyes widened.

"I wouldn't want to impose on you. This is a lot and you're getting the shop back up -"

"Harry, it's not imposing. I got you pregnant. I want to be apart of my child's life. And _yours."_

Harry bit her lower lip in thought. "What- like I would move in here?"

"What if," he swallowed. "What if we looked for a new place? A place that's our own?"

"What about your flat?"

"It's just - _hard_ being here right now. And not exactly kid friendly. There's no garden and things are always exploding downstairs when I'm working on a new product. One time I blew out the sitting room floor."

"You'd really want to live with me?"

"I think it should be _me_ asking you that."

"You don't think it's a bit fast?"

George snorted. "I knocked you up and we just shagged again. This whole thing is a bit fast, but I'm willing to adapt."

"I mean, I guess it would make things _easier_ in some ways _._ But-"

"But what?"

"What if _whatever_ we have going on right now between the two of us blows up? What if we move in together and I'm too messy or you're too noisy in the mornings or what if we like each other _too_ much or what if one day you look over at me and blame me for - for what _happened_ with Fred and you hate me and then-"

" _Harriet,"_ he said rolling on top of her, "look at me. Breathe." She gazed up at him and he saw the worry in her eyes. "If you're too messy, I'll clean up after you. If I'm too noisy in the mornings then I need to learn to be quite anyway before the baby comes. I think I already like you a bit too much, but I don't plan on doing anything about that."

Harry blinked. "Alright."

"And, this is important so look at me, okay," he said, brushing some of her fringe out of her eyes. "I don't blame you for what happened with - with Fred."

"Okay," she said after a moment.

"Okay?"

"Okay yeah. Let's do it. Let's move in together."

George grinned. "That's my girl."

"Just - two more things okay."

"Name it."

"I want to wait a bit before we tell your family. I'm not sure how your parents are going to react," she said. "I want to tell Ron and Hermione first, before anyone though."

"We can do that," he agreed. "Mum's going to lose her shite so I'd rather put that off for a bit. What's the other thing?"

"You need to warn me before you put on muggle jeans the next time," she said seriously. "Me and my hormones can't handle it."

"Such cheek, Potter," he said grinning.

And he kissed her, long and hard, and wasn't the least bit surprised when there was a round two after all.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: Please don't forget to leave a review!**

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 **alrightginger is my name over there too.**

 **Chapter Three**

 _Harry,_

 _I know you've only just gone home, but meet me at the shop at 11:30 if you would._

 _I've found some places that I think might work._

 _Love,_

 _George_

Harry clutched the letter tightly, pulling the hood of her jacket closer over her head to shield herself as she walked down Diagon Alley. She was under strict orders from her midwitch to no longer apparate anywhere. It could harm the baby if she were to misjudge her destination, and she wasn't that graceful at it to be honest.

Often times, she found herself face down on the street or sprawled out in some bin near where she wanted to go.

She didn't want to do anything that could hurt the baby, but it was hard to go anywhere now with the _Prophet_ after her for a story, and crowds of people flocking to her whenever they saw her out and about. She _certainly_ didn't want them to catch wind of her meeting George at his shop. Not that she thought any of their reporters were the least bit clever to piece together the actual story just yet, but _still._

She wasn't showing right now, but one day soon she would be, and they would devour her whole when they found out.

Harry sighed and peered back down at the letter in her hand. This was all very complicated, but the thing she was having the hardest time dealing with at the moment was written on his letter to her.

 _Love._

He probably just signed it without thinking, but Harry was fairly certain she _was_ in love with George. Their relationship was moving at such a fast pace, and yet Harry wasn't entirely sure what that relationship _was_ exactly. They weren't entirely _friends,_ per say. Friends didn't do the things that he had done to her in his bed for the past six days straight.

Friends didn't lick her up and down. Friends didn't break the headboard while they were in bed together. Friends certainly didn't make her eyes roll in the back of her head, her nails claw at their back, didn't make their name leave her mouth in pants and moans.

Friends didn't do _any_ of those things.

But they hadn't defined it anymore than that. Had yet to put any type of label on it.

If Harry _had_ to put any sort of title on it right now it would be partners she supposed.

Partners who slept together, who were moving in together, and who were having a child together.

Except she didn't want to be just partners.

She wanted to be much, much _more_ than partners.

But Harry knew to never ask for more out of life.

* * *

Looking back, working on fireworks _inside_ the shop was probably not one of George's brightest ideas, but he was still in a six-day-straight-shaggathon fog, and unable to think clearly. Harriet had busted his _brain,_ and at one point his bed after she had an accidental magical outburst when she climaxed that last time.

But his busted brain is the main issue right now, because he's blown up his office in his stupidity, and nearly his nongirlfriend-girlfriend after he hears the shriek.

"Harry!" he called, and he spotted her by the door frame, shielding her eyes as the sparks go off. He grabbed her, lifting her up, and barreled them both through the door.

Once they're out in the main part of the shop - coughing and wheezing from the smoke - does he manage to take her appearance in. She's wearing another dress, this one striped blue and yellow, and a light coat is wrapped around her waist.

"Merlin, Harry, are you alright?"

He cupped her face, her eyes are watery from the smoke, but her cheeks tint pink and he knows it's not from the fumes. She's a _blusher_ when he touches her, and he's always attempting to tinge her cheeks now.

"I'm fine," she smiled shyly, as if they haven't left his bed in nearly a week. As if he hasn't discovered every inch of her. Every mole. Every lost freckle. As if he hasn't changed his life's very purpose to discover these things about her. "Fireworks?"

"Yep," he said. He moved a hand down to her waist, his thumb rubbing her hip where he knew a mole was. Her eyes had fluttered shut when he had kissed it the night before, and they fluttered shut again with him stroking it. "Don't know what I was thinking."

"Do you - um - need to take care of them? Before-"

"Oh, the office is enchanted to keep them contained. We- we did that after I blew the sitting room floor out that one time."

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. His own eyes dart to where Lee is up on the second floor, too far up to get a good look at them. He dipped his head and kissed her fully, in a way he knew would make her whole face flush, judging by the way she squeaked into his mouth, pulling her closer by the hand on her waist and tangling the other one in her hair.

Her own hands wrap around his neck, one of them brushing the back of his head - threading her fingers into his hair which has gotten impossibly shaggy - in a way that's so tender it drives him crazy.

He waited until he felt the puffs of breath grow shallow against his lips before he pulled away, grinning down at her in a way he knew reached his eyes.

 _Merlin,_ he loved her. She just didn't know it yet.

He placed one last kiss to her lips before calling up to Lee.

"Oi!" he bellowed, and Lee moved to peer down at them, clutching a box of Canary Creams in his hands. "I'm taking Harry on a long lunch! I have a firework situation in the office. Do you think you can handle it?"

"Sure thing, boss." Lee gave George an all too knowing grin, and George had to stop himself from snorting. _Plan's moved a billion steps ahead, my friend,_ he thought to himself instead. "Have fun!"

George held the door open for Harry to exit, flipping a bird in Lee's direction while her back was turned. They managed to go barely six steps before George wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, pulling her down a secluded alleyway and shoving her (gently) against the brick wall. He's not quite sure what this witch has done to him, but he's been positively drunk off of her, and it feels as though she's been gone for for ten days rather than ten hours. Her lips are warm, her hands wrap around his neck, and his own grip at her waist which is so small that he's surprised there's life in there.

"Did you miss me that much?" she murmurs against his mouth.

" _Like mad,"_ he said before moving down her neck. "I told you that you didn't have to go."

"I have to pack up my stuff at some point and, - _fuck,_ don't leave a mark - if I didn't leave, you would have never looked for flats anyway."

"True," he agreed. His hands are brushing the hem of her skirt up. She was never one to wear dresses before, but she picked up the habit during the summer, and he's glad she did. Her legs are impossibly long, and he has much better access to them in skirts and dresses. "Lots of better things we could be doing."

"Find us a flat, and we can keep doing all these things _without_ me having to go home every few days."

"Deal."

* * *

Harriet had only only gotten the feeling of truly coming home only once before, and that was when she had attended Hogwarts. But when she stepped into the muggle townhouse, she just _knew._

"Well," said George. His hands were in his pockets, and he was looking at her expectantly. "What do you think?"

Harry said nothing at first, dragging her hand across the marble kitchen counter top instead, and looking out the sliding glass door into the back garden. There was enough space for a child to play. It would allow for maybe even a swing set or a garden where, for the first time in her life, she could plant _lilies_ instead of petunias.

And for the first time since the muggle pregnancy tests had shown a little plus sign, the whole thing seemed very real to Harriet. She could envision perfectly a little messy haired boy or girl having a childhood far different from her own in a house like this one. A childhood where they could play in the garden, rather than tend to it, and then come in to a dinner table with two parents who love them.

And who quite possibly loved each other.

 _Could_ love each other if they allowed themselves.

"There are three bedrooms upstairs," said George, as Harry blinked away the vision of her child playing just outside the sliding glass door. "Two baths. I know it's in a muggle neighborhood, but I thought it would be better for privacy. Especially with raising a kid."

"It's perfect."

George swallowed, and Harry fought the urge to place a kiss on his Adam's apple as it bobbed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," parroted Harry. She grinned, feeling her heart swell as she looked at him in the kitchen that they could possibly share. "I can see us here. See us as a _family_ here."

George grinned, crossing the space between them, and cupping Harry's face once he reached her.

"Thank _Merlin,"_ he grinned. "I put an offer on it early this morning."

* * *

Grimmauld Place was incredibly depressing, but even more so since Harry now had her hopes up about the muggle townhouse. They wouldn't know for a few days whether or not the offer was accepted, but she was packing her stuff nonetheless.

She couldn't wait to get out of her late godfather's house where he was burned off the family tapestry, but still very much there. Where his old bed in which she slept in at night no longer held his scent, but yet still somehow held his presence.

She didn't want to remember him that way. Miserable the very last months of his life. Trapped as she had felt those days, and now she was _free_ and he was gone. She wanted so badly to see him again. She had so much to say, to tell him, to ask him.

 _I'm pregnant,_ she thought to herself. Knowing somehow he would hear her even if she didn't speak the worlds allowed. _I'm pregnant and quite possibly in love, but he doesn't know. I've gone and done it all backwards it appears._

"Mistress." Kreacher's voice startled Harry out of her thoughts. The little elf was hunched over in the doorway peering at her. "Mistresses' Weasley friend is here. Not the one whose child she bears though."

"Ron?" questioned Harry, her eyebrows raising. "You didn't mention anything about-"

"Kreacher did not mention the baby. Mistress has asked him not to do so. Though Kreacher urges Mistress to eat more for the child she is growing. Mistress eats far too little."

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Harry, giving the elf a kind smile. "I'll be sure to do that."

Harry had only seen Ron at Fred's funeral, and then once more after he stopped by after Charlie had informed him of Harry staying at Grimmauld Place. The latter, they had actually gotten into an argument over Harry refusing to come back to the Burrow.

" _What do you mean you won't come back home?"_ Ron had shouted at her. " _What good is it doing you here? Sulking all alone? We can help you!"_

" _The Burrow isn't my home! It's_ yours! _I'm not - I'm not a_ Weasley!"

" _Are you really that stupid? Of course you're a Weasley! You're family in every way that counts!"_

Their argument had resulted in a drunken apology session in which they both had cried, and clung to each other. And then a few days later Harry had gone to George's flat, and everything had changed.

She still hadn't been to the Burrow, and she had hardly spoken to Ron or Hermione. Partly out of guilt, partly because she didn't know to explain to them how she had been seeing George, but mostly because she didn't want to tell Ron just yet that his brother had gotten her pregnant.

But the moment she walked into the kitchen where he's waiting on her, she almost certain that he must know, for he was regarding her coldly.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry. Her heart beating rapidly in her chest and trying to search his expression for some sort of clue. "What's happened?"

"What the hell is this?" He waved a copy of the _Prophet_ under her nose too quickly for Harry to see what he's on about. "Is this true?"

"I haven't read the _Prophet_ in _weeks,"_ she said rolling her eyes and snatching the paper from him. "What are they saying now-"

The rest of the question stops, gets lodged in Harry's throat, for her mouth is far too dry to speak. For there, covering nearly half the front page, is a photo of George and herself. Her back pressed against the brick wall of the alleyway from yesterday, his lips on hers, his hands brushing the hem of her skirt up ever so slightly, and a headline.

 _ **Girl Who Lived In A Secret Relationship with Wheezes Owner?**_


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: So sorry for the wait on this one! It turned out to be impossibly long, and I actually ended up having to split the chapter in two. This one has Ron's reaction. Next chapter will have the whole Weasley clan reacting. But I added something at the ending to hopefully make up for the wait on this chapter.**

 **PLEASE READ - This story is only going to have ONE baby, because I think they aren't in the right place to handle more than one lol. Glory of Love is going to have twins (James and Fred). But I am having some trouble choosing which child I want for this story, so I thought, why not let you guys vote on what baby you want?**

 **Your options are:**

 **1\. James Sirius - my precious boy who I love with all my heart**

 **2\. Fred - His birthday his actually April 1st which is the due date**

 **3\. Euphemia - Since this is an AU anyway I thought I'd give you a none canon choice. Honestly, I'm rather prone to this option? I like the thought of them having a girl, and her sharing James' mum's name (and I love Euphemia and anyone who doesn't can fIgHt mE).**

 **But anyway, the choice is all up to you! So please, leave a review and vote!**

 **Chapter Four**

 _The Girl Who Lived, Harriet Potter, appears to be engaging in a secret affair with none other than Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop owner, George Weasley._

 _Potter has always kept close ties to the Weasley family, befriending their youngest son during her first year attending Hogwarts, and even spending some of her summer holidays with them. There are some, like Seamus Finnigan, who claim that it was only a matter of time before she snagged one of their son's._

" _Potter spent a majority of her time being flanked by one Weasley or another during her schooling at Hogwarts," says Finnigan, an old schoolmate of Potter's. "If she wasn't with Ron, her best mate, she was with the twins who almost acted like a barricade against any potentially interested boys."_

 _The twins, Fred and George Weasley, opened up their joke shop not too long ago, but immediately found success with it. They were forced to close, however, when it became apparent that the Weasley family was aiding Potter, who was a fugitive at that time._

 _Fred lost his life in the Battle of Hogwarts this past May, and no word has been given on a reopening of the shop, which is where Potter and Weasley were spotted at yesterday. It is speculated that these two lovers have come together after suffering mutual heartbreak and loss from the war._

 _When asked to comment on this, Ronald Weasley's (George's brother and friend of Potter) only reply was, "shove it."_

Harry's breath had gotten lodged in her throat from the moment she read the headline, and by the time she finished the article, she was certain she had forgotten how to breathe at all.

And then a white hot rage filled her, starting in her stomach, bubbling and boiling, and pushing through her throat until she suddenly had too much air in her lungs, making her feel as though she would burst.

"What are they now?" she spat, her words coming out like venom. She shook the paper violently, wrinkling it in the process. "Some sort of _gossip_ magazine? I'm going to _kill_ Seamus! He's still cross from the one time I shot him down during sixth year."

Ron was staring back at her, a fury in his eyes that matched her own, though his seemed directed at her rather than the _Prophet._

"Is it gossip if it's true?" he asked, jerking the paper from her hands, and smacking the now creased picture of Harry and George. "Because this doesn't _look_ like you two are just mates like I've thought you been for _years."_

Harry flinched, one hand bracing herself against the counter top of the kitchen, the other clutching her stomach. She was still thin, her stomach flat, and she was early enough along to hide the pregnancy for a few more weeks if she wanted to. But she couldn't lie to Ron. The very first friend she had ever made, and the person closest to her.

The one she would miss most.

"I have to tell you something," she said. "I should have told you sooner, but I didn't know how."

"It's true then? You're dating my brother?"

"Not- not exactly."

"Then what's _this?"_ He threw the paper on the table, and Harry watched as George's hands brushed at the hem of her dress. "A casual _snog?"_

"I slept with George," she said, closing her eyes and bracing herself for his reaction. "I went over to his flat weeks ago, and we ended up sleeping together."

Harry knew her best mate - knew him well enough to expect a reaction akin to an explosion- and she was not disappointed.

"He- you - _slept together?"_ Ron roared so loudly that, had Harry not taken a sledgehammer to the portrait of Sirius' mother, she would have woken. "He put his fucking hands on you?"

"Ron-"

"This whole time - _this whole time_ \- I've been worried about _you,"_ he spat. "Worried over _him._ And you two- you've been _shagging?"_

"Ron, it's not - it's not _like that."_

"Then what _is_ it like? Cause I've thought you've been sulking about _here,_ in this fucking house, the whole time. I thought _he_ was hung up over Fred. You- You couldn't come back to the Burrow, but you could go to _him."_

"I'm pregnant!" Was there any other way of telling a person that you were expecting other than shouting it at them? Harry wasn't sure, for she had tried no other alternative. "I'm _pregnant,_ okay? I got pregnant from the first time we slept together, and I've been trying to figure this whole thing out, because it happened out of nowhere. And it's messy and the timing is _shite,_ but that's why I've been seeing him. Because- because we're trying to find a way to make this _work."_

Ron stood stock still, the tips of his ears were burning red, and the rest of him had gone white as freshly fallen snow. His mouth would open, but no sound followed, as though he couldn't find the words. Harry was about to instruct him to sit down so he could collect himself, but before she could, she heard the sound of the fireplace igniting, and a second later George himself came bursting into the kitchen.

And, _fuck her,_ what horrible timing.

" _Harry."_ His hair was wet and rather untidy, as though he had just gotten out of the shower causing her cheeks to burn. He had a habit of getting sweaty during their shagging, making his hair look similar to how it was now, and Harry found herself cursing her hormones for acting up at such an inappropriate time. "Harry are you -"

"You got her _pregnant."_ Ron had found his voice, and it was almost a growl when he did. The hostility of it startling even George who had apparently not seen him standing behind Harry. " _Pregnant?"_

For a brief moment, the two brothers stood staring at one another for a moment, Harry standing off the the side, her eyes darting wildly between them, unsure of what was to happen next. And then Ron lunged at his brother, knocking over a chair in the process. They collided and Harry watched as Ron grabbed George around the waist, sending the two boys barreling to the ground.

" _Stop!"_ Harry barely registered her own voice as she watched them roll around on the floor. She had never in her life seen a physical fight break out between the Weasleys. Even with the amount of boys under one roof. Ron had taken a swing at George that connected with his jaw before George was able to get the upper hand, pinning his brother underneath him.

"What's your problem?" snarled George.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're playing at?" snapped Ron, struggling against his brother. "Knocking her up like she's some sort of-"

"Don't finish that sentence!"

"Why?" Ron shouted, though his voice sounded ragged. George was pinning him down with such force, and Ron was struggling to breathe. "Isn't that what you did?"

The comment seemed to further piss George off, his fist striking Ron's nose, and causing blood to gush from it. They were both breathing hard, cursing at each other, and Ron was choking on the blood that was running from his nose.

Honestly, it was as if they had forgotten they were _wizards,_ the way they were going about using their fists instead of their magic.

 _Men,_ Harry thought, pulling out her own wand and taking a page out of her father's book.

" _Levicorpus!"_

There was a yelp from both boys as they were hoisted into the air, as if they were hanging by their ankles, and Harry rolled her eyes, pocketing her wand.

"Are you done?" she asked, hands on her hips. "I'd rather not have my kitchen destroyed."

George was staring back at her in shock, as though no one had ever managed to pull one over on him before. As though he had never found himself being in the position at the barrel of someone else's wand. Ron, however, looked livid. Betrayed.

Harry has only seen that look once before when he had suspected her of entering the Triwizard Tournament herself, and they had not spoken for weeks.

Harriet normally would have wilted under his gaze, but she was furious with their immaturity.

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I said, _are you done?"_

"Yes," said George immediately, and Harry saw the ghost of a smirk tugging on his lips.

 _Git,_ thought Harry.

She wanted to smack it off, but would settle for kissing it later.

Ron blinked back at her, angry and detached. And then Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, and his features softened.

"Yes," he grumbled, and his voice was nasally. Blood was still running from his nose, and Harry felt queasy looking at it. "I'b done."

"Good," she said. "Now, I'm going to let you down and George, you're going to fix Ron's nose. If there's any more fighting I will blast you both into next week."

Harry didn't wait for a response, flicking her wand, and watching the boys crash unceremoniously towards the ground in a tangling of limbs and groans. They broke apart, staring at each other, and Harry had never seen the two brothers look at one another with such cold contempt. Sure, Fred and George had often riled Ron up for the fun of it, but Ron was looking at his brother in a way he often saved for Malfoy. As though George had turned his favorite bear into a spider again, or taken his favorite plaything. But in a split second, George's lips twitched and he gave his brother a grin before offering him his hand, which Ron stared at momentarily before grabbing it and being hoisted up.

"That doesn't look good," said George, scrunching his own nose up at his brother's. He drew his wand, pointing it between Ron's eyes and Harry saw him go cross eyed. " _Episkey!"_

There was a distinct _crack,_ and Harry wondered how hard George must have hit Ron to have broken his nose.

" _Bloody hell!"_ Ron groaned, clutching at his now newly-set nose. "Shite, that hurt!"

Harry sighed, pulling out the teapot and grabbing a rag for Ron's nose. She turned back to face both boys who were looking at her expectantly. The most important boys in the world to her.

"Well," she said. "I suppose we ought to talk now. _Calmly."_

* * *

The moment George woke up that morning, he knew that it was going to be a dreadful day. And not just because Harriet had decided to go back to Grimmauld Place rather than spend the night at his flat.

But because it was a Saturday.

And his brother had died on a Saturday.

While he had expected it to be a shite day, he had not expected to take his copy of the _Prophet_ from the delivery owl after he had just gotten out of the loo, and to see a photo of himself snogging the life out of Harriet.

Though, honestly, it was a rather good photo that he may cut out for later, but it _still_ shouldn't have even been there in the first place.

He had immediately sent an owl over to his mother, instructing her _not_ to go to Grimmauld Place nor to show up at his flat, and that he would be by later to explain. He knew the picture was incriminating, and he needed to explain himself to his mother.

The only thing was he wasn't sure what exactly there was _to_ tell his mum. He was watching as Harriet's hands threaded and tugged at his hair from a perspective he had never been able to witness before when the sudden thought occurred to him. _Were_ they dating? He wasn't sure, and he needed to clear that up with Harry before he spoke to anyone else about it.

Harriet, who was probably alone at her dead godfather's house alone, possibly unaware that the whole wizarding world was waking up to the news that they were involved with one another.

He grabbed a bit of floo powder, thanking Merlin he had thought to connect their fireplaces, and took off.

Only to collide with the wall that was his younger brother.

* * *

George would never say it aloud, but it had been sort of therapeutic to break his younger brother's nose. Don't get him wrong. He felt incredibly guilty about it. His younger brother had been the only guy in Harriet's life for years now, and he wasn't expecting the transition of someone taking his place to go smoothly.

But he hadn't expected Ron to tackle him to the _ground_ over the fact that he was shagging his best mate.

"So, you two ended up doing _whatever,_ and now Harry is pregnant." His brother was holding a wet rag to his nose. His face still stained with blood, and George thought his nose might bruise. "What are you going to do about it?" He addressed George this time, but his tone was calmer than before. "Are you going to take care of her?"

They were sitting around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. A table George hadn't been at since the Order had headquarters there. Harry had made them tea which as going untouched. She was sitting next to him, and George had to stop himself from draping an arm across the back of her chair or reaching for her hand. He didn't want to further piss his brother off, but he was itching to touch her. His hand twitched in his lap as she shifted in her seat, and he caught the smell of cinnamon and honey.

"I can take care of myself," said Harry, and George saw her knuckles turn white around her cup.

"I'm going to take care of her," he said with a half smile . "Her and the baby."

"The baby," said Ron, lamely. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "I still can't believe this. You're going to be _parents."_

George nodded. "Yeah, and you're going to be an uncle."

George knew his younger brother well enough to know that Ron felt as though he was losing his place in Harry's life. That was why he had lashed out so violently. But he also knew if Ron felt like he was gaining something from the situation that he would be more open to the changes.

"An uncle," said Ron, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, I guess that would make me an uncle." He paused for a moment. " No one else knows?"

"No," said Harry, shaking her head and George felt her relax next to him. "You're the only one."

"When are you going to tell mum?" asked Ron. He seemed a big more smug. "She was in a right state this morning. Dad had to stop her from leaving the house."

"I sent her an owl," said George. "I'll probably tell her at family dinner this week."

"I'll go with you," said Harry, and George turned to look at her fully. Her eyes were impossibly green, and it took everything within him not to lean across the table and kiss her. "We should both tell them."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I haven't been back since - since the wedding I guess."

A silence fell over the three of them, and George wondered how life seemed so irrevocably different from Bill and Fleur's wedding. Fred had dragged him along to flirt with pretty French girls, and he had tried desperately not to openly stare at Harriet that night. She had worn a tight green dress, and her hair had been up. He remembered wondering how on earth he didn't notice her neck before. It was long, elegant, and he had wanted to kiss every inch from the place just below her ear down to her collarbone. Now he had done all those things and more. There wasn't an inch of Harriet that he hadn't discovered.

He had her.

He didn't have Fred.

And he wondered how it was possible to feel like you had both lost and gained something incredible.

"Mum's going to lose her shite," said Ron, mainly to himself. "Absolutely lose it."

* * *

Night had long fallen, and Ron had gone home after staying for dinner. The tension seemed to have faded, and Ron could not stay mad at after he had a full stomach. They had jokes around, and argued about Quidditch while George watched on.

George was learning many things about Harry. From the moles that scattered her skin to the fact that she could cook. She had easily made the three of them dinner, and had done everything by hand.

She was currently washing the dishes by hand while George wordlessly dried. He didn't know much about her life at the Dursleys for she never really spoke about it, but he knew that the bars that covered her window years before were just the beginning. The way she had used a knife to chop up the vegetables was skilled, and he had noticed the speed in which she moved around the kitchen.

She was currently attacking a spot on a plate mercilessly, her brow wrinkling in frustration, and water splashing on her shirt. George dropped the plate he was working on.

Ron was gone, and he no longer had to hold himself back from touching her. He placed himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing the spot on her neck that made her hiss, and he heard the plate splash into the water.

"You know," he said, nipping at her neck. "There are much _better_ things we could be doing with our time right now."

She turned in his arms, her water soaked hands threading themselves into his hair just the sort of way that he liked. In just the sort of way that drove him wild.

"Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

"How about I stay _here_ tonight?" He brushed her waist, his fingers finding their way to the bare skin under her shirt, and her hips tilted into his.

"Here," she said, arching her neck as he placed open mouthed kisses to it. "In this dark dreary house."

"I'll be wherever you are."

Harry stilled suddenly and George looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, and she moved her hands to grip his shoulders. He knew her well enough to know that she was thinking over something, and he pressed his forehead to hers as though he would be able to hear her thoughts that way.

"What is it, love?" he murmured.

"What are we going to tell your mum?" she asked softly.

"We'll figure it out," he said. "Mum may be shocked at first, but she'll be thrilled about the baby."

Harry sighed. "Not about _that._ I mean, yeah, that's part of it. But what about- what about…"

She trailed off and George raised an eyebrow down at her. "What? About what?"

Harry shook her head, smiling almost sadly, and sighed.

"Nothing. I'm just being silly." She bounced on the balls of her feet. Something she did when she was nervous. "I think I'm going to take a shower before we turn in for bed. It's been a long day."

She raised herself up on her tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his lips that was far too short. He watched her go, watched her as she tugged her hair out of its pony, and then wondered how he could possibly be so stupid.

* * *

The water was impossibly warm and Harry stood underneath its pressure, her head pressed against the tile of the shower wall. Ron knew about the baby, and had accepted the news even if it had taken a broken nose for him to do so. So why did she feel so sad?

The simple answer was also the reason that she was the happiest she had been in a long time.

George Weasley.

The article had made her doubt their arrangement. It had made her do the thing she knew she shouldn't. It made her want _more._ She didn't _want_ to be just partners, or friends who shagged, or _whatever_ they were.

She wanted to be so much more that she wanted to scream.

Before she could tell herself that it probably was entirely too much to ask for, the shower curtain drew back, and George stepped in, every bit as undressed as Harry, and causing her to shriek.

"Fucking _hell,"_ she gasped, sputtering water. "You scared me!"

He was staring at her, his eyes hard and dilated, and Harry felt the warm, fuzzy sensation in her stomach start to pool.

"George," she breathed, unsure if it was a question or an acknowledgement.

He took it as an invitation, stepping closer, and backing her until she was pressed against the wall, and his hands were on either side of her head. The water was warm, but she shivered against him.

"I love you," he said, his voice husky. It was the first time anyone had ever said those words to Harriet, and she closed her eyes trying to savor the moment. "I love you so fucking much that it scares me and excites me."

She felt the vibration of his voice against her throat, and the caress of one of his hands trail down the curve of her breast, past her ribs, brushing the side of her stomach. Reaching impossibly lower.

"I _want_ you," he said. "I want to _be_ with you. I want you to call me your boyfriend. I want you to tell that dick Finnigan that I'm your boyfriend."

Harry whimpered, and it turned into a gasp as she felt his fingers brush against her. She spread her legs, giving him better access, and groaning as he slipped two fingers inside.

"Open your eyes, love," he ordered, his fingers picking up their pace. "I want you to look at me."

Harry's eyes flew open as though he had placed an enchantment over her, and she thrust her hips against his hand.

"Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this?" Harry wrapped an arm around his neck, the other gripping at the shower curtain as he spoke. "To know that _I'm_ the one making you lose control."

" _George,"_ she whimpered, finding her voice but finding that it only knew his name.

"You make me feel like I could do _anything."_

He withdrew his fingers so suddenly that Harry cried out in protest. But she knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't leave her with nothing.

"Turn around, love," he said. "Hands against the wall, and mouth open. It's hot as hell when you bite your lip, but I'd rather like to _hear_ you. Especially if it's my name leaving your lips."

Harry, only prone to taking instructions from George and no one else, did as she was told. One if his hands gripped her waist, the other fisting against the wall next to her head. He was prodding her, pushing into her, and Harry let out a whine.

" _Fuck,"_ he hissed, sliding into her, and moving his hips. "You're so fucking _tight."_

He was groaning, deep and low in his throat, and Harry thought the very sound of it would get her off.

"I want to do _this,"_ he said, thrusting into her harder, "for the rest of my life."

" _Harder,"_ she ordered, though it came off as a whine. As a plea. " _Faster."_

His thrusts became rougher, more rapid, and Harry felt the hand gripping her hip tighten. There was no mattress to soften his blows, and Harry found she was incredibly close.

"I love you so fucking much," he groaned, his voice in her ear. " _God-_ you feel incredible."

"Oh- _god!"_ The water had turned cold, but Harriet could feel George's warmth. "Please - right there!"

"Fuck," he hissed. "I'm so close…"

He was pounding into her, wildly, completely untamed, and Harry wondered if he knew that he was keeping pace with her rapid heartbeat.

"Right there - _right there!"_ She came a moment later, barely registering the fact that she was crying out his name over and over; and George followed soon after, groaning her name into her shoulder as he did so.

Harry was panting, her legs like jelly, and her body feeling completely limp. The chill of the water had started prickling her skin when she burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" asked George, amused, as he turned her to face him, and she fell slack against him. "What's so funny?"

"It's just," started Harry, wiping at her eyes, "the first time anyone ever told me they loved me also turned into the first time I had shower sex. I didn't even get a chance to tell you that I love you back."

George blinked before bursting out into laughter that made Harry dissolve into more giggles. They clung to each other, there in the now freezing water, and Harry turned to look up at him with tears of laughter streaming down her face.

"I love you," he said, cupping her face. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," she said, breathless and impossibly happy. "And you're a decent enough shag, so I suppose I'll take you up on that boyfriend offer."


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N: Hey everyone! So sorry for the wait on this chapter! I took the summer off to focus on other things, but I'm back at it now. I've been sick this weekend so I haven't given this as much of an editing job as I would have liked, so I'll probably come back to fix a few things later.**

 **Baby Euphemia was the winner of the baby contest! I sort of like that better because I don't have to choose between Fred and James, and can include them both in the epilogue. So get ready for baby Mia!**

 **Please, please leave a review!**

 **Chapter Five**

Dawn broke like a herd of hippogriffs through her room the next morning, but Harry had long been up before the light spilled across her bed.

Pure soreness from the previous night's activities had been the initial reasoning for her unwillingness to drift of into sleep, but as time trickled on, fear gripped at her throat.

Today she had to face Mrs. Weasley.

The thought was paralyzing, causing Harry to feel as though she couldn't breathe. As though every breath she drew was fire and smoke. As though the very act of it were painful and would cause her lungs to collapse within her.

Feeling a bit like a small child, Harriet tugged on the covers, pulling them up towards her chin, and turning to burrow into the sleeping redhead next to her.

 _Her boyfriend._

It was hard, looking at him there, to let fear into the forefront of her mind. He was the brightest thing in the dreary house, the sun illuminating him and making his pale skin seemingly glow. He was a stomach sleeper, always one hand draped across her waist, the other underneath his pillow in a way that made him seem several years younger. He was so still that she could count the freckles that scattered his shoulders, his back. Trace them to his jawline with the tip of her finger. Get lost in them, never find herself again, and never be more content than she was in those early morning moments where it was just their morning breathes mingling together, her raven hair draped across his bare skin, and his millions of freckles.

And, perhaps, _that_ was the sort of bravery she needed for today. That sort of thoughtless, reckless, gut feeling that led her to him in the first place.

That maybe - _definitely,_ things would be okay in their own sort of messy way.

In the way that every sort of pathway in her life had been up until this point.

"What are you staring at, Potter?" George had woken up, his voice thick with sleep, but not lacking in mischief.

Harry grinned, unable to help herself with the way he was looking at her. Like _he_ was the seeker and she his snitch. "I was wondering how many freckles one person could possibly have."

"Hmm," he hummed, rolling over top of her and causing her to sequel against him. His hair was an absolute mess - fiery red and sticking up in every direction - and Harry tangled her fingers through it. "And how many were you able to catch before I caught you?"

"I gave up," she said. The specks of gold in his hazel eyes that came before a mad plot were beginning to show. "There's too many. They're infinite."

"Of course they're not _infinite._ That's impossible. Unless you're talking about us."

Harry snorted. "Have you always been this cheesy? Have I just never noticed?"

"You were too busy saving the world to notice me," he said. He was smiling. Something that she wouldn't have thought twice about before a few months ago. Something that he now seemingly saved for her. She traced the curve of it with her thumb. "And _believe me,_ I tried to get you to notice me. Constantly made a fool out of myself because of it."

"I _noticed_ you," she protested, causing him to roll his eyes. " _I did!"_

"Sure you did." He was full on grinning now, leaning in to place a kiss on her wrist. "Tell me, do you remember what you said that day that I asked you if you wanted to go with me to Hogsmeade? During your fifth year when Ron and Hermione _both_ ditched you for dates in attempts to make the other mad?"

"I thought - I thought you were just trying to be _nice!"_

"I'm never _nice,_ Potter."

"Says the boy who helped a struggling first year with her trunk."

"Ulterior motives."

"I was _eleven._ I doubt I was even on your radar at eleven."

George blinked. "What's a radar?"

"Ugh, nothing," groaned Harry, wiggling from underneath him and grinning at his response. "Muggle reference. It basically means that you wouldn't have noticed me. At least not _this_ way."

She squirmed again and his eyes went dark.

"Well, to be fair, you were _eleven,"_ he said. His voice was nearly a growl. "We were kids. I noticed you plenty, but not like _this_ until a few years later."

"Hmm, when do you think you noticed me like _this?"_ She tilted her hips upwards to meet his own, causing him to groan. "If you had to guess?"

"Oh, I know _exactly_ when." He leaned down so that his lips were hovering just above hers and she was certain her breath hitched against them. "It was the summer before your fourth year when we came to pick you up for the World Cup. You turned as I was stumbling out of the fireplace, and I swear to Merlin, it was like everything was in slow motion."

"But - but that was-"

"Years ago? Yes, I know. I'm quite pathetic."

"How did you know _so soon?_ I only figured it out a year after that!"

George blinked down at her, looking quite possibly for the first time in life something akin to shocked. "You - _you fancied me?_ A year after? And you never told me?"

"You never told _me,"_ she retorted. "I only figured out I liked you after we got into that fight on the Quidditch pitch and you kissed my hand. _Wait_ , how come you went to Yule Ball with Katie if you fancied me then?"

" _Lee Jordan_ asked you before I could manage to get the balls to do it." He sounded so miffed about it still that Harry had to giggle. "He _knew_ that I fancied you, and told me if I didn't step up and ask you that he would."

"Hmm," she purred. "Well, we're together now. Plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time."

"Yes," he grinned. "Yes indeed."

And then he swallowed her laughter, and Harry wondered how her aching limbs could possibly be meant for anything else other than wrapping themselves around him.

* * *

George was done with making plans. They never turned out the way he had intended anyway. Sometimes for the better, like with Harriet and the baby. Sometimes for the worse like when he opened the shop and thought that Fred would be by his side every time he opened the doors. And that had completely backfired.

And so he had made no sort of plan when it came to dinner with his parents that night other than just coming out and telling them that he had gotten Harriet pregnant but he was impossibly in love with her.

And that, yes, the timing was _shitty_ but in some sort of weird way, it seemed perfect.

Time seemed to trickle and stall all at once during the day. Seemingly limitless with just the two of them in her great big bed, lips brushing, limbs tangling. Seemingly finite as the clock drug closer towards dinner, where their little bubble would be popped and they would be further exposed to the world.

"I don't want to leave," she whispered, hushed and panting against his lips.

"Let's never leave." He pressed his lips against hers, wondering how much he could take from her and how much she'd be willing to give. Perhaps everything. "Let's stay here forever. Just you and me in this dark, dreary house."

She smelled like ivory soap mixed with cinnamon and honey and he was quickly becoming intoxicated. Every breath he drew in was sweet and savory. Every taste of her was like sugar.

"Forever," she repeated. It sounded like a prayer.

He pressed himself to her, careful not to fall flat against her stomach as his hand brushed her rib cage, just underneath the thudding of her heart. He could understand now why people called love madding. Why people lost their damn minds over it. Why they went to war over it.

And how, with her underneath him, he was willing to be consumed by it.

" _Forever and forever and forever."_

But the afternoon sun came nearly blindingly through the window and he felt her tremble as he kissed her scar.

* * *

Harry hadn't been back to the Burrow since the wedding, and though she had tried to prepare herself mentally before stepping out of the fireplace that afternoon, somehow she had completely forgotten how the house _smelled._

A mixture of cedar wood, something rather musty that made her breath deep rather than curl her nose up, and the baking of Mrs. Weasley's ham hit her like a wave, stronger and more potent than the soot she just stepped out from.

And there, deep down and aching, was the sudden real feeling she hadn't even realized she had of being _homesick._

"What's wrong with you?" Ron had entered the room, dressed in a pair of muggle jeans and a nice button down shirt that was too short in the arms and exposed his wrists. His nose was still slightly bruised and Harry flinched.

"Nothing's the matter with her," said George from behind her, though he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently. "She's perfect."

Harry couldn't speak just yet. If she opened her mouth, she would have to breath in more of the Burrow and she wasn't certain the breath wouldn't come off shaky.

"Gag. Mum's in a tizzy," said Ron. "She's been cooking all day so I hope you're hungry."

Harry blinked. She _had_ been hungry, but now she felt rather sick, and she wasn't sure if it was from the pregnancy or her nerves.

She could defeat a Dark Lord, ward off hundreds of Dementors, walk openingly into death's embrace, but to walk into the Burrow's kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was waiting for them - that was something she felt entirely unprepared for.

Harry felt George's hand intertwine with hers - his fingers as rough and calloused as her own from years of Quidditch - and Harry thought it odd, how different they were, and yet how well they molded and fit together.

"You okay?" asked George. He was glancing down at her.

 _Always, always six inches below him,_ he had told her.

Harry gave his hand a squeeze. "I will be."

"Fucking hell," said Ron, looking at their clasped hands. "You guys really are together, aren't you? Like _together together."_

Harry ignored him, swallowing and her eyes drifted towards the kitchen. "Do they - do they _know?"_

"About the…" he trailed off, motioning awkwardly towards her stomach. "No, I haven't mentioned anything. It's just us, mum and dad obviously, Ginny, and Hermione."

Harry bounced nervously on the balls of her feet, tugging hopelessly on the material of her dress to stretch it out subconsciously. She wasn't anywhere _near_ showing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she would walk into the kitchen and everyone would just _know._ That everyone would be able to tell with a single glance at her that she was pregnant.

"You look great," said George. He was becoming increasingly good at picking up on her cues and she had to wonder how long he had been watching her to notice all the small things she did. Certainly longer than she suspected. "They won't be able to tell a thing. We can always hold off on telling them about the baby for a bit longer if you'd like."

"No," said Harry, shaking her head, "it's better to do it today. Might as well get it all out in the open."

George nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on the top of her head as Harry and Ron exchanged a look of silent communication that only two people who had spent months camping together could do. That only two people who had been willing to sacrifice themselves for one another before were able to accomplish. He would have her back just as he always had before. Just as he would in every moment forward.

"Everyone's in the kitchen," said Ron. "You ready?"

Harry sighed. "As I'll ever be."

Harry wasn't certain what to expect when she walked through the doorway of the Weasley's kitchen. Her heart was pounding painfully in her chest and her throat felt tight. She searched desperately for that reckless sort of courage she had felt looking at George earlier that morning but felt only sickening nerves. Would Mrs. Weasley hate her after this? She was incredibly protective over her children, and Harry had always felt like that included her to some extent, but she wasn't sure anymore.

But what she ought to have expected, what she ought to have _know,_ was that the answer to her questions were in Mrs. Weasley's arms and the way she hugged her the moment she stepped through the kitchen door.

In a way a mother would a long lost child.

In a sort of affectionate way that Harry had only ever received from Mrs. Weasley for as far back as she could remember.

In a way that, perhaps, her own mother would have done, _had_ done, once upon a time.

" _Oh, Harry, dear,"_ she shushed against her ear. Harry had to slouch down now to hug the older woman now. She was so tall. But Mrs. Weasley hugged her with such a fierceness that she felt like a small child.

"Mum, be careful with her," said George from behind her, but he sounded a million miles away.

It took Harry a moment to realize that she was crying.

A second after that to realize that Mrs. Weasley was shushing her like an infant.

And in the beating of her heart she realized that she was home.

* * *

George's mother was acting as if Harriet hadn't been missing from her normal spot at the Weasley family table for over a year now. As if a whole war hadn't passed, taking with it half of George himself. As if their family dynamic hadn't been completely altered because of what the war had taken.

But she was doing it for Harriet, because she needed the stability. The normality if it all.

And he had never loved his mother more because of it.

"Eat, dear," his mum said. She was piling more food on top of Harriet's plate. "You look thinner. You really ought to start coming by a couple times a week so you can get a decent meal."

"Leave her be, Molly," his father chided, but George could see the concern in his eyes as well. Harriet had always been an honorary child to them, and he had heard many hushed conversations throughout the years between his parents about Harriet's well being. Both mental and physical.

"Harry, I've hardly seen you all summer," said Hermione from her seat across from Harriet. She was bursting to break the facade. To know what was really going on. "Are you attending Hogwarts in the fall with Ginny and me or did you decide to enroll in the auror training program with Ron?"

A silence fell over the table in which every pair of eyes shifted towards Harriet, awaiting her response.

The issue of the article had been purposely avoided with much restraint from his mum, George suspected, but there was no getting around it now.

"No actually," she said, fidgeting in her seat. "I'm not doing either of those things."

The sounds of several creaking chairs filled the stillness as everyone took in Harriet's words, her hands balled up in her lap as she looked her friend in the eye. It was something George always admired about Harriet, her ability to look any obstacle dead on and push through.

"I don't understand," pressed Hermione, her brow furrowing. "Why wouldn't you want to finish your education if you're not going into the program with Ron?"

"Forget the education," chimed Ginny. "What about Quidditch? I'm _captain_ this year! I need to build the best team that I possibly can!"

"Guys, come on. Lay off her a bit," said Ron. He was sitting to Harriet's other side, leaving her flanked by the brothers.

" _Lay off,"_ snorted Ginny. "Don't you want her to go into the program with you?"

"Of course I do," argued Ron. "But it's up to her."

George locked eyes with his father, who seemed to be processing something before the older man cleared his throat. "That's enough everyone. Harry's probably just taking a year off. It's normal after everything to need some time adjusting."

George wonder if, perhaps, his dad _knew_ with the way he leaned back in his chair to observe the two of them together. And he wondered what he must see.

"What's this about anyway?" Ginny continued, ignoring their father. George had never noticed how many hard headed tendencies his youngest two siblings had in common. She turned towards George. "Are you two together or what? It's been hard enough getting _you_ to come over once a week. Harry's just been gone since - since _everything._ And then that article came out and I wasn't sure _what_ to think."

Harriet turned towards George, not in a searching sort of manner, but rather, with a look of certainty. As if to say, _get ready, this is it._ And without thinking, without worrying about what the others at the table would think, he reached out to take her hand, feeling the steadiness of it. Feeling the smallness of it. And he thought fleetingly that it had been _this_ hand - her wand hand - that had taken down a Dark Lord.

"Here's the thing," spoke George for the first time since they had sat down for dinner. There were too many people at the table, too many emotions blossoming across faces, and so he looked towards his father, leaned back in his chair and glasses askew, who looked back at him with the twitching of his fine lips. And he pressed on. "We _are_ together. We weren't sure really how to tell you all, but that article wasn't the right way. We were sort of biding our time, waiting for the right moment, but it got taken from us. But the simple answer to your question is _yes,_ we are together."

Hermione shook her head, logic seemingly failing her. " _Simple answer?_ Is there a more complex reasoning?"

"It's rather complicated," said Harriet. She drew a breath before pushing forward. "I _know_ I should have come around after the war, but I - I just _couldn't._ I felt broken and lost, and I felt as though they only person would could possibly understand the way I was feeling was _George."_

"We could have _tried,_ Harry," said Hermione. She didn't sound hurt, but rather, her voice was laced with heartbreak for her friend. "We were willing to try."

Harriet shook her head. "It's - it's _different._ What George and I lost is different. Though in some ways it's the same as what everyone else lost, but in a far more intimate way it's entirely _more._ It's - it's _apart_ of ourselves. I felt like I was walking around with part of my body just ripped from me, and I felt like George was the only one who could possibly know how that felt."

Hermione sniffled. " _Oh, Harry…"_

"There's - there's _more._ There's something else we need to tell you," said Harriet. "And I don't know any other sort of way to say this without just coming right out with it and nearly shouting it at people. I can rehearse it a thousand different ways, a thousand different times, but it never comes out as I planned."

Ginny sat up straight, looking concerned as she leaned in to listen. "What is it, Harry?"

"So here's the thing. And in some ways it's _why_ we're together, but it's - it's not the _only_ reason we've decided to be together," said Harriet. "It - it happened one night when I went over to his flat. You're probably going to think we were rather careless, that we were being stupid and immature, and in all honesty we probably _were._ But I'm - I'm pregnant. And I know the timing is completely awful. We've just gotten out of a war, and we don't know the first about being parents, but I've had some time to think things through, some time to come to terms with my new reality, and we've - George and I - have talked it over, and we're keeping the baby. We _want_ the baby."

It was as if every breath had been drawn in at once. As if they had all forgotten to exhale. And George looked past every other person at the table, his eyes searching for the one person who hadn't spoken during the entire conversation. The one person who seemed to always have Harriet's well being as much of a priority as he did.

And it was her words that broke the silence.

"Oh," breathed his mother. The first to let the breath she was holding go. Her eyes were watering, a few stray tears escaping down her cheeks, but George could see the closest thing to joy shining through his mother's eyes since before the war. " _A grandbaby."_


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: So sorry for the long wait on this chapter.**

 **If you've already read LIAF then you can skip this next part, but** **I wanted to address something, because it's been bothering me even though I got the review months ago. I will be posting this same note with every new update, since I know I have different readers for different fics, so I apologize if you are one of my floaters and have already seen it.**

 **I got a rather rude review that said my works were hard to follow because of the time it takes to update, and that it's almost not worth it to have to reread everything when I do manage to update. I love each and every one of my readers, but I want to be clear that I have two kids and a family. My writing schedule and updates revolve around them entirely and I'm not willing to change that. If you follow me on tumblr, I can do my best to provide you with update schedules but with my son running around now and my daughter being involved in** **activities,** **things have been crazy! Thanks to each and every one of you that have been understanding about that! I know how hard it is to wait on a story to update...believe me! And I just want to be clear that I do not mind reviews asking me to return to a story so long as they are not rude!**

 **Thank you all for sticking with me! I** **appreciate** **you guys so much.**

 **Please dont' forget to review!**

 **Chapter Six**

"What about yellow?"

"Yellow is a horrid colour, and I can't believe you would even consider it for our baby's room."

"Oh boy, here we go…"

"I mean, _honestly,_ are you expecting our son to come out a Hufflepuff?"

"What's so wrong with a Hufflepuff? And, besides, we don't even know the sex of the baby -"

"Trust me, he's a Gryffindor _and_ a boy. And like his dear old dad, he's going to want his room decorated in red and gold."

Harriet had been beyond herself when the news came earlier in the week that their offer on the townhome had been accepted. After signing the papers and collecting the keys, the pair had the sudden realization that they had absolutely _nothing_ to fill a home with. Fred and George hadn't spent as much money on furnishing their flat as they had their own wardrobe, and Harriet had been mostly living out of her old school trunk, sort of floating about here and there. And so she and George had spent the past several days shopping for their first _real_ pieces of proper adult furniture.

It had been overwhelming at first. There was so much that they needed, and so many different options for two people that had never really had a _home_ before. Round tables, square tables, sectionals, sofa sets, brown, black, leather, fabric. And George - dear, sweet, insufferable George - wanted the best, most expensive choice of _everything._ And Harry got it. Really she did. He hadn't had much growing up, and now that he was on his own, not lacking for money, and with his own child on the way...he wanted to provide _everything._

The very _best_ of everything.

But Harry…

Harry just wanted the feeling of _home._

And, after much convincing that a grand chandelier in the middle of their living area would be far, _far_ too much, she had finally managed to reel him in a bit.

With a tight hand on his spending pocket, Harriet had made sure that most of the furniture had been selected, _needed,_ and ordered, and would be delivered within the next few days.

And now the only room left to take care of was the baby's.

Which was incredibly daunting.

Harriet wasn't sure why she hadn't even considered the fact that she would have to decorate a baby's nursery.

The thought made her stomach lurch.

Or, perhaps, that was just her morning sickness.

Either way, she had barely possessed a room of her own in her short lifetime, and now she was responsible for putting together a _child's._ It was terrifying. She had momentarily thought about asking Mrs. Weasley for help. She knew that the older woman would be all too happy to be of assistance, but the only thing stopping Harry from asking her was the fact that the last time they had talked - during the dinner in which Harriet had told the Weasleys and Hermione that she was expecting - it had lead to a very near panic attack.

Harry shivered as her mind wandered back to part of their conversation from that day.

" _\- and, really, dear. A home birth is nothing to be afraid of at all. I had all my kids here at the Burrow. The only one who ever gave me any sort of trouble was Percy."_

" _Trouble -"_

" _Oh, he was flipped the wrong way. Sideways, I believe. They had to push on my stomach to get him to flip around. Took forever. I nearly thought I was going to come up off the bed. That was the worst part of it though."_

" _Oh-"_

" _And then, of course, all the bleeding afterwards."_

" _The what now?"_

" _Oh, but don't worry about it, Harriet love. You're practically used to being covered in blood by now, I'd say. This will just be your own and, well, clots more."_

" _What?"_

" _Mum, I think that's more than enough."_

Thank _Merlin_ for George and his good sense of when to shut his mother up. Though Harry suspected it was just as much for his sake as hers, if his wide eyes and hand tugged hair had given her any sort of clue. Harriet was relieved that Mrs. Weasley had taken the baby news so well, but she hadn't expected her to be quite so...enthusiastic and _descriptive_ about it all _._

Honestly, how could a woman who had been through so many childbirths talk about it with such ease?

How could she still be _mobile,_ Harriet mused to herself. Harriet was becoming incredibly fearful that she would never be able to sit on the handle of a broomstick again after everything was said and done.

"What's wrong?" asked George, sounding very far away. Harriet blinked, allowing her vision to float back to this current moment and found George looking back at her with a furrowed brow. "You look positively _green._ Are you going to be sick again? I _knew_ we shouldn't have eaten at that muggle diner for breakfast. The baby hates anything the least bit greasy -"

"No, no," said Harry, shaking her head. "It's not the diner. Or my stomach."

"Oh," said George, frowning slightly. "Did I offend you about painting the room yellow? Because we can, you know. I'll do whatever you want. I was just joking around, honestly."

"No, it's not that at all," said Harriet with a laugh.

He had been doing this lately. Teasing her, and then fearing he had crossed some sort of invisible line, and attempting to make things right. She had never seen him so _cautious_ with a joke before. As if he still couldn't believe that she was with him. That she had _chosen_ to be with him, and he was fearful he would eventually screw it up.

But Harriet could take a laugh. _Needed_ a laugh.

And George was the full embodiment of everything she needed. Laughter and all.

She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, feeling his chin on the top of her head.

They were both changing in slight little fragments around each other. While he treated her with a certain tenderness he wasn't prone to using with most, she found herself crossing distances for him more. And while the distances were a simple few inches between her forehead snuggling into his chest or a hand cupping his face, it seemed a lot more than just that.

Harry had never allowed herself this type of vulnerability.

Had never thought much about it, honestly.

And it was odd, really, the sort of freedom she felt in being completely vulnerable in front of someone. In letting her need for George be shown to him.

"You okay?" asked George, his voice vibrating at the top of her head, and causing goosebumps to ripple down her spine.

"It's just," started Harry before stopping and sighing deeply. "How am I ever going to put together a _nursery?_ And it's more than just the baby's room. It's the fact that if I can't even put together a suitable room for our baby, what sort of mum will I even be? I don't have any sort of clue about what I'm doing, and, okay, I might have gotten through most of my life not having a damn clue, but I feel like this isn't going to be quite as easy."

"Of course it's not going to be easy," said George, cupping her face in his hands and tilting it slightly so he could place a kiss on her scar. "But the truth is, no one really knows what they're doing."

"You're parents seemed to know what they were doing. Or, at least, I thought so as a kid."

"Nah, they didn't," said George with a low chuckle. "I have pretty vivid memories of mum crying over the kitchen sink and saying ' _oh god, what have I done'_ growing up."

"That's _awful,"_ said Harriet, though she too was laughing. "God, what did you even do to the woman?"

"That specific time," said George, casting his eyes upwards and feigning thought. "I believe we magicked the stairs away. But the point is no one, including my parents, knows how to be a parent right away. But we'll be winging it together. And we're two pretty alright people, so I think our kid is going to be just fine."

"Hmm," hummed Harry, closing her eyes as George's thumb brushed her temple. "You think so?"

"I know so," he said with a grin that Harry didn't have to open her eyes to see. "So, yellow or no yellow?"

"Ugh, no yellow. Yellow is a horrid colour."

* * *

A light gray, they decided, was gender neutral enough of a colour to paint a baby's nursery.

George was just happy enough to walk out of a store with a solid choice of a paint colour _and_ a happy girlfriend that he didn't even harp too much on the fact that they could honestly just _charm_ the walls gray, rather than actually painting them.

Though, truthfully, he had mentioned that fact several times before only to be shot down.

Harriet had insisted that they do things the muggle way, saying she wanted the bonding moment of the two of them painting the walls of their baby's room, but George was a bit worried that such a moment would spawn an argument instead.

But Harriet was set and determined, and George knew that once she made up her mind there was no changing it. He had learned that lesson long ago, back in the days when they attended school together, and he had to keep his school boy crush on her bottled up like a potion. Only releasing it to the safety of his brother and Lee's listening ears at three in the morning. Or, on more than one occasion, the solitude that his four poster bed provided at the end of a long day.

And so, resigned and relenting, George had agreed to paint the walls the muggle way. Though, deep down, he knew that there was no way he was going to ever win an argument against Harriet Potter, and merely enjoyed riling her up.

In the end, however, Harriet had ended up too sick to even stomach the fumes of the paint, and George's dad had been more than willing to step in and help with the painting of the baby's room.

"Isn't this fascinating! To think, muggles put so much time and effort into their homes. Some even use _paper_ with little flowers on them on to decorate their walls. I think we could learn a thing or two from them."

George agreed with his father on one thing. They _could_ learn a thing or two from muggles about something. Namely, how to paint a wall in even strokes so it didn't look like an _actual infant_ had painted their own room.

"Dad, can you, I don't know... _not_ get paint on the carpet. Somehow. I'm not even sure how muggles get paint out of carpet, but I'm sure Harriet will want to do it that way too."

George knew the moment he flooed his father to ask for help, he had made a horrible mistake. This was only further solidified the moment his dad showed up at his doorstep at seven in the morning, clutching in his arms every type of paint brush imaginable, and wearing a pair of nearly worn out overalls.

He didn't even know his dad _had_ a pair of overalls, and wondered if he made a special trip to the muggle thrift store he loved just for this very reason.

"She's a smart girl, you know," his dad said, wiping his brow and smearing paint across it. "She's planning on teaching your child how to live as both a wizard _and_ a muggle. There's no better skill."

"Except maybe how to paint a wall properly."

"We'll get it. It's only the first coat, after all. It'll all even out in the end."

" _How many coats are supposed to go on a wall?"_ cried George, stopping in mid-stroke to gape over at his father.

"Three, I think? Four, maybe. I read about it in a book before coming over. Fascinating subject, paint is. Hoards of colors to choose from."

"Fucking Merlin," groaned George, running a hand through his hair.

"Now, don't let your mother hear you talking like that. Especially not with a baby on the way. I thought she was nearly going to skin me alive when the first word you boys said was a curse word I accidentally taught you after dropping a frying pan on my foot."

George froze, his heart stopping. It was almost as if he had stopped breathing, as though he had _forgotten_ how to breath. The fumes of the paint hitched in his throat, causing his eyes to water. Though he knew they were stinging for an entirely different reason.

His father had mentioned Fred so casually.

As though Fred still _existed_ somewhere in the same universe as them.

As though he's simply at the shop, waiting for George to show up to work.

But if Fred still were alive, he wouldn't be at the shop, of course. George knew this. Fred would be where George was. Because that's how they were. Fred was wherever George was, and George was wherever Fred was.

Together.

Not one without the other.

"I had forgotten that story," said George, clearing his throat loudly. He wiped at his eyes, hoping his dad didn't notice. "It was one of my favorites."

"He would be happy, you know," said his father, sounding steady and sure. As though the ground beneath them had not been shaky for some time now. George closed his eyes, focusing on his father's voice. "About all this. About you and Harriet. No matter how unconventional it is that you two came together. He knew you were crazy about the girl."

"He thought it was pathetic, how mad I was over her. But he still came up with a million different ways to try to get us together."

George felt a swelling in his chest. It was odd, he thought, how he could still feel anything after Fred's death. That was how insane his love for Harriet was. Stronger than grief. Brighter than his darkest moments.

"And he would be happy about how well you're doing. With how strong you've been and how brave you've been," his father said. How could he speak without his voice cracking, George wondered. His own sounded unsure during any conversation dealing with Fred.

"It just feels weird. There are moments when I'm happy. _So incredibly happy_. I almost can't stand how happy I am. And then there are moments where I'm still...sad. And those moments feel so deep that it's almost like they'll devour me."

"It's important that you let yourself feel all those things, or else they _will_ devour you. It's important not to run from them, but to embrace them. You're only human."

George wasn't sure when either of them had stopped painting exactly. He only became aware of the fact when he noticed the walls were starting to dry in uneven streaks, the long forgotten paint roller hanging loosely from his hand.

He wondered if his parents put this much thought into what colour walls he and Fred would share when they were born.

If they knew that when they were bringing two of them into the world, they would be left with only one someday.

"Sometimes it's just…" he started, before trailing off and having to start again. "Sometimes it's just _hard_. Dealing with bringing a new life into the world when Fred lost his. It's scary, how fragile that life is. How you can just... _lose_ it one day. Harriet is so worried about being a great mum, but I'm not worried about that at all. She's _fierce._ She's resilient. She'll be that way with motherhood. It's _me_ that I'm worried about."

"I was worried too," his father said. Any other father would have clapped their son on the shoulder at this point, physically reaching out in someway. But that wasn't Arthur Weasley. He didn't need to do those things. His words were enough. "With every single one of you, I was scared shitless. When we found out we were having twins, I nearly had a panic attack. How was I ever going to manage _two_ newborns at once? But there's something you're not prepared for until you actually meet your child. Something that makes you prepared to be a father."

"What's that?"

" _Love._ You think you know what love is when you look across the Great Hall and spot a girl sitting on the other end, but there is absolutely nothing that will prepare you for the type of love you'll have for your own child. You can't know it until you seem them for the first time. It's all-consuming, and greater than any fear you could ever have. It's the reason you'll do just fine. It's the reason we will all do just fine."

"I can't imagine loving anyone more than Harriet," said George, laughing. The sound breaking just a bit with a sob. "I can't imagine feeling anything more soul consuming than that. It just doesn't seem possible."

"It's not a case of loving someone _more,"_ said his father, shaking his head and smiling. "It's a different sort of love, one that you can't even begin to understand until your child is here, but just you wait. Just wait until you meet her."

"Who?"

"Your daughter. _Then_ you'll understand."

"I think you're wrong on one account," said George, grinning, lopsided and slightly off kilter. His lips quivering even as they tugged upwards. "We're having a boy."

"Boys don't cause their mother's to glow like that."

"Are you saying mum looked awful for five pregnancies straight?"

His father simply laughed, returning to his uneven paint strokes.

Gray really was a lovely colour, George thought. Perfect for a nursery.

"Just you wait. She'll be here, and you won't be able to imagine a time before her. You won't remember a time before you loved her."


End file.
